Winter Solstice
by LOTRlover
Summary: Gilraen is trying to adapt to a new life in Imladris as Arathorn's widow and the single mother of a young son. Glorfindel is recovering from near-fatal wounds. When they meet at the Winter Solstice celebration, what will come of it?
1. Chapter One

****

Winter Solstice

by LOTR lover

Disclaimer: The Tolkien Estate owns the setting, any language used other than English, and the characters.

__

Chapter One

Gilraen would have turned to flee, but for little Aragorn's crow of delight at the merry music and the dancers in their glittering costumes. She was in no mood for festivities so soon after Arathorn's death, be they Dúnadan Yule or Elven Winter Solstice observances. Indeed, the only reason she and the child had left their room was to creep down to the kitchen to find something to eat, since it appeared that everyone else in Imladris had gone to the celebration. 'Twas not her fault that a coterie of chattering kitchen helpers had descended upon them at the very doors and borne them off to the Hall of Fire, then left them just inside and gone swirling off in the dance.

Aragorn wriggled in her arms, almost succeeding in throwing himself to the floor. Gilraen hurriedly set him down and took firm hold of one pudgy hand. "Fine, little one. Stand on your own feet, but hold fast to my hand lest you be trampled." Despite her mood, she couldn't help the wicked thought of a whole line of elegant, graceful Elves dropping like dominoes to avoid stepping on the small obstacle in their midst.

A group of cushioned wooden benches sat unused about two thirds of the way up one side of the great rectangular room, and she made her way to it, Aragorn in tow. She plunked him down on one bench that had a good view of the merriment and ordered him to stay where he was, then scavenged several flat pillows from the other seats and brought them back to him. She piled three pillows on one end of the bench, then propped two more against the back. Then she helped the child to stand on the pillows and sat down herself beside him. She cast the last pillow onto the floor in front of him, just in case, and took a good hold on the back of his tunic lest he overbalance in his eagerness to see everything at once. 

And there was much to see. The room was almost as bright as on a summer evening, with slim tapered candles in tall candelabra ranged along the walls, chunky columns with three and four wicks sitting in dishes placed on tables near the benches and chairs, and oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. Pine logs burned in fireplaces spaced along the walls, adding their familiar scent to the holiday bouquet of beeswax, spiced wine, and exotic food that permeated every part of the room. Garlands of evergreens, fruit, and carved wooden ornaments adorned the fireplace mantels and twined around the pillars that supported the roof.

Despite her unwillingness to celebrate, Gilraen could not suppress a pang of disappointment that there was no huge Yule log dominating the great main hearth at the back of the hall; it was yet another reminder that she and Aragorn were among strangers who kept strange holidays. Arathorn had been so insistent that if anything happened to him, she and the baby were to travel to Imladris and live with Master Elrond, instead of going back to her parents. He had even insisted on her learning Elvish Sindarin instead of their own Mannish dialect, schooling her for hours before the fire on his visits home.

She felt her cheeks tingle at the memory of the rewards he had given her for good pronunciation, and the ones she had given him for helping her conquer lenition. A loud squeal of delight brought her back to the present, and she looked over at her bouncing son with a fond smile. _He_ had been the direct result of learning to conjugate verbs!

Her smile faded again at the sight of Master Elrond sitting on a long chaise with his back to the great hearth, flanked by his own two sons. Arathorn had loved them so much, but when he needed them they hadn't been able to save him. No, that was an unworthy thought. Other Dúnedain who had been on that fateful hunt had told her Arathorn was dead before he fell from his horse, and that the twins could do nothing but avenge him. All three Peredhil had honored him in death and had willingly given his wife and child a home. 

A commotion arose at the front of the Hall and the dance suddenly came to a halt, with everyone turning toward the great doors as the music died out. Gilraen turned to see what was happening just as a tall figure entered amid a sudden flurry of cries of joy. The newcomer was attired in a splendid green brocade robe and practically dripped with golden ornaments on his clothes and in his shining, ornately-braided hair. Elrond and his sons stood at their places, and one of the twins began to applaud. Applause spread quickly over the hall as the other twin left his seat and hurried toward the newcomer.

"Glorfindel!" he called as he strode up the center of the hall. "You, my lord, are the living example of the Winter Solstice itself: a new day dawning after the long night!" By the time he finished this compliment he and Glorfindel had met halfway, and Elrond's son bowed low, spreading his hands out to either side and sweeping the long pointed sleeves of his midnight-blue robe on the ground as he did so.

As he rose from his bow, the Elf-lord so named took him by the shoulders, then pulled him into a tight hug and released him. "Elladan, seeing you whole and in the company of your father and brother is worth all of it."

Gilraen gasped. She and Aragorn had been at Imladris only a short while when, at the beginning of winter, the Twins' troop of Orc hunters had swept into the courtyard, two of the horses carrying double loads. She had watched from her balcony as Elrond had come dashing out the door followed by a crowd of other healers. Shaken out of his usual calm, he had barked orders and sent others scurrying to do his bidding as two swooning, blood-covered warriors were lowered gently into waiting arms, then placed on litters and carried into the great house. One of the twins had allowed someone else to take his horse away to the stables while he followed the litters into the house, white-faced as the snow that dusted the ground and sobbing bitterly.

Later Gilraen had found out that the wounded were Master Elrond's son Elladan and Glorfindel, his mysterious and intimidating friend and advisor. The hunters had been trailing a pack of Orcs for some time, and had finally swooped down on them, wiping them out. Unfortunately, the Orcs had been on their way to meet another pack, who, hearing the battle, had charged in on the victorious but exhausted Elves. Elladan had been attacked by three Uruk-hai and Glorfindel had gone to his rescue. Elladan had been severely wounded before Glorfindel could kill two of the attackers. The third had been able to fight the Elf-lord to a standstill before he had managed to take off its head. 

Elladan had recovered quickly in the manner of Elves, but Glorfindel had not. The third Uruk's sword had been dipped in no less than four noxious poisons, and Elrond's healing abilities had been taxed to their limits as he fought to keep his oldest friend alive. None but Elrond, his sons, and his most skilled healers had seen the golden Elf for weeks. Rumors had flown that he would not live through the winter, and some of the folk of Imladris began openly to debate the wisdom and the worth of staying in Ennor to resist the darkness.

Now Elladan stepped to Glorfindel's side and took his arm, and together the two moved slowly down the hall toward the great hearth. Others crowded in to greet and touch the recovered hero, and Gilraen lost sight of both of them in the press.

Aragorn tugged on her sleeve. "Naneth? Want music, Naneth. You tell them make music."

"Hush, sweetheart. They'll play again in a bit. You'll see."

Her son stamped a foot into the soft pillow and almost fell. Gilraen caught him and plopped him down onto his bottom on the pillow. "Just a moment, lovey--" She broke off as his little face creased into a fearsome scowl and he scrambled back to his feet, using her sleeve to haul himself up. 

"Now! Want music now!"

Surprised at the impending tantrum, Gilraen remembered that neither she nor Aragorn had eaten dinner, and that it was probably past his bedtime as well. She quickly sat him back down, slipped off the bench, and crouched in front of him. "Listen, lovey. You sit right here and be a good boy, and Naneth will go and get us both something tasty to eat. Yes? Something with honey in it?" Aragorn nodded. "Good. Stay right here, understand? Do not move, no matter what."

The child nodded again, and Gilraen darted off toward a nearby table loaded with pastries and other foods. The musicians begin another lively dance as she filled a plate with sliced fruit, some squares of bland cheese, and some small honey cakes. What she had chosen wasn't really a proper dinner for a small child, but the meat pies would be too spicy for him. She stole a quick glance back toward Aragorn and found that a line of dancers had blocked her view. She quickly filled two cups with plain water, took them and the plate and hurried back.

As she rounded the last few dancers, she was startled to see Glorfindel himself drop rather stiffly onto the bench beside her son.


	2. Chapter Two

****

Winter Solstice

by LOTR lover

Disclaimer: The Tolkien Estate owns the setting, any language used other than English, and the characters.

__

Chapter Two 

The Elf-lord sat still as a statue with his eyes closed. Gilraen didn't think he even realized that Aragorn was there--at least not until her little one turned from watching the dancers to notice the golden bells that clasped the ends of the Elf's thick braids. "Oh, no," Gilraen whispered, and broke into as fast a walk as she could manage without spilling the tray.

"P'itty," Aragorn said, grabbing for the closest bell and tugging. When it failed to come off, he announced, "Want dat!" and pulled harder. Lord Glorfindel's eyes opened and he turned and put a hand out to the boy, saying something Gilraen didn't understand. Aragorn let go of the braid and twisted away, catching his heel on the cushion behind him and plopping down hard. The Elf reached for him again, apparently to prevent his falling from the bench, but the quick movement frightened Aragorn further and he burst into tears just as Gilraen arrived. 

Lord Glorfindel pinned her with a look and said something that might have been a question, except that it was in a language Gilraen had never heard before. "Your pardon, my lord; I don't understand." She set the tray on the bench between him and her son and took Aragorn into her arms, shushing and soothing him. She handed the boy a honey cake; as she had hoped, the cake claimed his attention and she was free to concentrate on making her apologies to the Elf before her.

She had never met Lord Glorfindel, and had never before been close enough to get a good look at him. He was exceedingly fair, of course; by now Gilraen had almost stopped being amazed at the personal beauty of the Elves she encountered. Despite the warm, mellow light cast by the fires and the Hall's many candles, his face seemed wan and his green eyes glassy, and Gilraen remembered how ill he had been. He said something else in the same language, his tone sharpish, and Gilraen answered, "I mean you no discourtesy, my lord, but I do not understand the words you use. Would you be so kind as to speak in Sindarin?"

A look of displeasure passed over his face, but he did as she requested, though his voice was cold. "Maiden, if you are to care for the King's grandson, you must learn to speak the language of the King's household. Did Lady Idril not tell you that His Majesty does not wish his grandson to speak the tongue of Doriath?"

Lady Idril? His Majesty? Doriath? Arathorn had told Gilraen stories of the Elder Days, and as a girl she had been taught the history of Númenor and the Dúnedain. She also knew what was said of Glorfindel--that he was an Elf far older than Master Elrond himself, and that in a society where one's lineage was carefully recorded, his origins were obscure.

"My lord?" she asked gently, "Do you know where you are right now?" He made a gesture of dismissal, but there was something in his eyes.... She gathered up her courage, shifted Aragorn to one hip, and laid her free hand firmly against the Elf-lord's forehead; in the moment before he frowned and leaned away from her touch, she felt the unnatural heat of his skin.

Dark fabric rippled beside her and she glanced up to see Master Elrond standing there. "Happy Solstice, Mistress Gilraen, and a Merry Yule. I am pleased to see that you and your little one decided to join us," Elrond said. "And Glorfindel, old friend, how do you fare?"

"Lord Glorfindel feels fevered to me, my lord," Gilraen told him. "And I believe he is somewhat...confused."

"Hmm." Elrond placed a hand on his Captain's forehead also. "You are right; he is fevered. Glor--"

Glorfindel slapped Elrond's hand away and came to his feet in a rush, his other hand going to the hilt of the eating knife that hung from his gilded leather belt. "Who are you?" he growled. "I gave neither of you permission to make free with my person."

Gilraen clutched Aragorn close and backed several paces; the little one grabbed handfuls of the fabric of her dress and held on tight, his eyes wide. Elrond moved to shield them, his hands raised in a gesture of conciliation, his palms facing outward to show they were empty. "Be at ease, my lord! You are threatening a child and his mother. Think; are you sure you do not know me?"

Behind Glorfindel Gilraen could see the sons of Elrond turn from their respective conversations in different parts of the hall and stride quickly toward their father. Elladan made a gesture toward the musicians, who immediately struck up a rather noisy reel, and Elrohir paused to whisper to a woman in blue who drew three other Elves into a foursome and began to dance, calling on others to follow them.

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly to one side, regarding the Elf in front of him. He glanced toward Gilraen and Aragorn, then back to Elrond. Heartbeats passed before his shoulders relaxed and he let go of the knife. "Elrond?" His voice was uncertain. "I lost track...I thought the child was Eärendil...."

The sons of Elrond arrived simultaneously, one to Glorfindel's left and the other to his right. Elladan threw a brotherly arm heavily across the Elf-lord's shoulders, and Elrohir slipped the knife from its sheath on his belt at the same time. Glorfindel offered no resistance, simply looking stricken at what he had done.

Elrond took his right arm and together he and Elladan eased Glorfindel down onto the forgotten bench while Elrohir moved the tray away so Elrond could sit beside him. "Ai, my dear friend, I fear you are near the limit of your strength," Elrond sighed. "And yet I must ask more of you." He turned to Elrohir. "My son, will you fetch us all some mulled wine?" As Elrohir went off in search of a pitcher and mugs, Elladan brought over another bench and offered Gilraen a seat. 

"By your leave, my lords, I should go," she said. Aragorn was quiet in her arms, his head tucked up against the base of her throat, his fists still clutching a fold of her bodice. 

"No, Mistress Gilraen, please stay. The Solstice Ceremony will soon begin, and my sons and I must lead it. Will you watch over Lord Glorfindel for me?"

"But should he not go back to his bed?"

"Indeed he should, but I need him here." Elrond paused, then added, "Mistress, there are whispers abroad that my friend here has died of his wounds and that my household and I are keeping his death a secret."

"But why? What reason would you possibly have to do such a thing?"

"It is said that I did it so that no one would know that Manwë has withdrawn his care from the Elves and left us to the mercy of the Shadow."

Gilraen sat down, feeling as if her legs would fold if she didn't. 

"Of course, Manwë would never do that," Elladan put in, sitting beside her. He stuck his tongue out at Aragorn and gently ruffled the child's hair. Aragorn didn't move; usually he liked attention from Elladan, but he was still subdued by the tension among the adults.

Elrohir arrived with mugs, a steaming pewter pitcher, and some bread and cheese. "You have always been one to state the obvious, brother," he said blithely, thrusting the tray into his twin's hands and maneuvering a small table over to set it on.

"If it were that obvious, brother, half of Imladris would not believe such foolishness." Elladan set down the tray and poured mugs of hot wine for himself and Gilraen. 

Elrohir snorted. "'Tis not 'half of Imladris'. 'Tis a small and faint-hearted minority who will probably take ship for the West soon enough anyway."

Elrond had been bringing small packets of herbs from his pockets as they talked. He took a pinch of this and a bit of that and sprinkled them into a mug, then filled the mug with mulled wine and stirred it. He handed it to Glorfindel, who had been sitting hunched with his elbows on his knees and his braids dangling around his face, ignoring what was going on around him. "Drink this, Glorfindel. All of it."

Glorfindel did as he was told, grimacing at the taste, then leaned back with a sigh, stretching his legs out in front of him. Elrond got up and gestured to Gilraen to take his place. He put his hand on his captain's forehead again and promptly got it batted away. "Go and perform the ceremony, Elrond," the blond Elf snapped. "I will last until it ends, but not much longer."

Elrond merely walked away. Elladan rolled his eyes; Elrohir quipped, "Mistress Gilraen, I do not envy you your task," and they turned to follow their father. Gilraen watched them go, wishing heartily that she and Aragorn had stayed in their room.


End file.
